


i'll hold onto love

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Western, Fluff, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, how many universes? all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: Murphy's an Old West cowboy from 1868. Bellamy's a part-time student, part-time smoothie connoisseur in 2020. They meet anyways, as soulmates are prone to do.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	i'll hold onto love

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from "where were you when the sky opened up?" by the dangerous summer. i have completely obsessed over this song, for a reason that i'm not too sure of yet.

At least he’s got the decency to apologize. Bellamy supposes it’s important to remember the positives when an actual cowboy has materialized in his smoothie shop, and is now standing on top of the counter with one boot inside a cup of _Strawberry Delight._

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the cowboy says, hefting his boot out of the cup and shaking it off, sending smoothie chunks flying around the store. One hits Bellamy’s white, clean-pressed shirt and slides down slowly, leaving obnoxious pink streaks behind. Normally, he’d care, but as the cowboy smiles sheepishly down at him all he can do is nervously push his large glasses a little bit further up his nose. 

“Yeehaw,” Bellamy whispers, completely lost in wonder as he stares at the cowboy, completely unable to do anything else. 

The bell above the door rings loudly as someone pushes it open, the potential customer stopping in their tracks when they see the situation. Somehow, this shakes Bellamy out of his daze and he waves the guest away with a gesture that could only be described as frantic. “Closed. Closed!” he shouts on repeat. 

“Dude,” the customer says, “what the fuck?”

“ _Closed_!”

“Okay, okay!” With hands up in surrender, he swiftly leaves the store, the bell silent as the door swings shut by it. Hurriedly, and with an urgency he’s never felt before at this minimum wage job, Bellamy rushes over and turns off the _Come In!_ sign and clicks the lock on the door shut. 

He closes his eyes, lets out a soft breath, and turns around. When he opens his eyes once more, the cowboy is still standing on top of the counter, pink smoothie residue on his shoe, only now, he’s got the audacity to wink at Bellamy, too. “Hi there, handsome,” he says.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, “not a dream.”

Bellamy takes a moment to truly look at the stranger, to try and figure out just who he is and how it is that he managed to appear suddenly, and in a tiny smoothie store in a suburban town, of all places. His initial assessment of calling him a _cowboy_ isn’t far off - he’s got the hat, for starters. He’s wearing an old brown vest over top of a simple white buttoned shirt, and a red kerchief tied loosely around his neck. Around his belt is a holster, complete with - what he can only assume - is a real, old-fashioned gun. 

The cowboy hops off the counter without any tact, his boots colliding loudly with the cheap tiled floor. It’s now that he, too, looks around, and realizes that he’s in unfamiliar territory. Bellamy notes the way his eyes go wide when he stares at the electronic menu screens and the equipment behind the counter. Frantically, he rushes to the front of the store and presses his face to the window, staring at the street outside. 

It’s nine in the morning, so there isn’t much foot traffic, but Bellamy figures the cowboy at the window is doing a fine job of scaring the customers off, closed or not. 

“Um, hi,” Bellamy says, regaining some composure over himself. “Yeah, uh - who are you?”

When the cowboy turns to him, the expression in his eyes is that of definite fear and apprehension, but he blinks it away in less than a second. As he swaggers over and crosses the length of the store (which isn’t far) to stand in front of Bellamy, he regains an immediate confidence and composure. Watching the whole facade take place makes Bellamy think that he must be an actor, and this is all some kind of viral stunt.

He’d be sure of that being the case, if he hadn’t seen him literally materialize out of thin air right in front of him.

“The name’s Jonathan Murphy,” the cowboy says, stretching out a hand. Bellamy’s taller, yet the confidence the cowboy’s got makes him want to curl in on himself and admit defeat. Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the smoothie shop, his jawline is immaculate and his eyes sparkle. Bellamy shakes his hand absentmindedly, finding himself being drawn in without a clear reason as to _why_. 

He holds onto his hand for a few seconds too long, and the cowboy has to pull it away awkwardly. “Um, right,” Bellamy says, pushing up his glasses to satiate his nerves. “Jonathan -”

“Oh, nobody calls me that.”

“What? _Oh_ , so, John - ”

“Just call me Murphy.”

Bellamy blinks and exhales sharply. “Why didn’t you just _say_ that?”

“Well, then, we wouldn’t have had this fun talk!” Murphy breaks the physical tension between them by turning around and going back towards the counter, this time sitting up on it instead of standing, which - small victories. He swings his legs a little as he does so. They aren’t quite long enough to hit the ground. Murphy then glances around at the counter, grabs the half-empty cup of _Strawberry Delight_ , swirls the cup around a few times, and then drinks almost all of it. 

“That’s my smoothie,” Bellamy says, almost emptily as he stares at what’s going on in front of him. 

Murphy finishes it, and sets the glass back down on the counter loudly. “I can see why,” he says, “it was good.”

“Your - Your boot was in that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh - okay, then.”

Murphy smacks his lips a couple times. “Look, partner,” he says, “I don’t know where this is, or what that drink was, but you seem real nice and friendly, so - can you answer any of that for me?”

“I seem nice and friendly?” Later on, he’ll regret being such an idiot in the moment. Truly, he doesn’t know what’s going on with him.

Murphy smiles at him, in a way that anyone else might call coy, but Bellamy finds it oddly charming. “Sure do.”

Bellamy clears his throat awkwardly, hoping to clear his thoughts, as well. It doesn’t work. “Well,” he says, “you’re in a chain location of Star Smoothies. We sell smoothies.” _Obviously_ , he thinks, _get a grip._

The cowboy mouths the word _smoothie_ silently, testing it out. “Never heard of ‘em,” he says, “or this...bar.”

“It’s not a bar.”

Murphy eyes the counter top suspiciously, then runs his hands along the glossy top. “It don’t _feel_ like a bar,” he says, “but it looks like one.”

“Yeah, but - it’s different.”

“You work here, yeah?”

Bellamy glances down at his uniform and nametag, both of which still have awful pink streaks on them from the smoothie incident only minutes before. “Yeah.”

“So how does this... _establishment_ work?” Murphy raises his eyebrows questioningly, but also with pride, most likely over saying a word with so many syllables. 

“Um. People give me money. I give them smoothies,” he says, stupidly.

“And these ‘smoothies.’ They’re a drink?”

“Well, yeah, they’re _a_ drink, but-”

“So, a bar, then.”

Bellamy stares at him incredulously, frustration building over more than one thing. “ _No_. There’s no alcohol in them.”

It’s Murphy’s turn to stare. “ _None_?”

“None.”

“But - I - wow.”

Bellamy shakes his head, desperate to leave this conversation behind. When he catches eye of the security camera hanging in the top left corner of the ceiling while doing this, one with a perfect view of the counter that Murphy’s currently seated on, his stomach drops. Suddenly, the situation hits him a bit differently - there’s a strange man in the store that he’s supposed to _not_ have closed, and this man is currently in an employees-only zone with what is probably a loaded gun. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy whispers, “I’m definitely going to get fired for this.”

He sweeps a shaky hand through his unruly, curly hair. Murphy leans forwards, then slides off the countertop, somehow parroting the concern in Bellamy’s face right back at him. “A face like yours shouldn’t be wasted worryin’,” he says, and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with everything about this situation, Bellamy would roll his eyes. 

“How are you here?” he finally asks, mustering up every bit of authority he’s got. 

Murphy doesn’t look fazed. “A wizard cursed me.”

He pauses. “Really?”

“Really.”

Oddly, Bellamy really does believe him. “Okay,” he says, “one problem at a time. Follow me.”

He goes around the counter, stopping only for a second to gaze at the mess on and around the counter. “Sorry ‘bout that,” Murphy says, just like he had before when he first appeared. 

“It’s fine,” Bellamy says, “I’ve had worse shifts.”

* * *

He ends up leading Murphy to the back office, somewhere that he technically shouldn’t have access to as a regular employee, but he and everybody else working there knew the manager never left the door locked. The office is so small that there’s only one chair at the desk with the computer system, so he lets Murphy sit on top of the small metal safe taking up the entirety of the other side of the room. This time, his feet do touch the floor, and for reasons he can’t quite comprehend, Bellamy’s disappointed about it. 

He pulls up the security camera footage easily, rewinding it to the moments just before Murphy had appeared out of nowhere. Bellamy keeps a careful eye on the screen, watching past-him go about his business blending up and pouring a _Strawberry Delight,_ when static overtakes the screen. It’s only for a second, but when the picture comes back, Murphy’s there, standing on the counter, boot-deep in smoothie. 

Bellamy rewinds the footage once, twice, three times. Every single time, the camera goes out during the moments of Murphy’s appearance. Their equipment is old, and the picture quality isn’t great, so it’s _possible_ that it’s just a routine issue, but - somehow, he knows that there’s more to it. 

He swivels the chair so that he’s facing Murphy, who hasn’t moved from sitting on top of the safe. The cowboy’s taken off his hat, and is holding it close to his chest as he stares at the screen with shock. Bellamy’s accidentally left it playing, so now it’s recapping their entire exchange that just occurred. From his expression, it’s as if Murphy’s never seen a video before. 

_Maybe he really hasn’t_ , Bellamy thinks. He wishes he could erase the thought, but from everything he’s seen, maybe that’s truly what’s going on here. 

“So,” Bellamy says, armed with a newfound confidence most likely stemming from being the only one in the room that comprehended their surroundings, “what - _exactly_ \- brought you here? _How_ are you here?”

Murphy slowly brings his hat down into his lap, tracing his fingers along the brim. “I said. A wizard cursed me.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“What more is there to tell?”

“Literally everything.”

“ _Okay_! Fine. I’ll tell you everythin’.”

And so, he does.

* * *

The sun’s gettin’ in his eyes. 

That’s the excuse Murphy’s got prepared in his mind, just in case it should happen that he lose this duel. His hat isn’t doing anything to block out the rays as they beat down on him and everyone in company. 

Mbege and Emori, his travelling companions, are standing off to the side, eerily silent. Both of them have their hands on their weapons, ready to start a shoot-out, should it be necessary. At the moment, Murphy’s back is to Myles. Dax and Connor, his own companions, stand a little ways off, on Myles’ side. 

Truly, he doesn’t really remember how this started. They were all in a bar, getting along somewhat, and then - ah, yes. Myles had started hitting on Emori, quite obnoxiously. Murphy had gotten in his way, some punches were thrown, Myles took it a little too personally, and now here they were, going for a final showdown as the sun rose to its highest point. 

It’s all a misunderstanding, but then again, Murphy’s no stranger to those. 

Mbege, bless him, takes it upon himself to count down. “ _One_!” he calls, and Murphy takes a step, then joins in, as does Myles. The three of them count in unison, taking steps away from each other with every number. 

_Eight_ and then sun is still in his eyes, _Nine_ and a bead of sweat streaks down his face, and, _Ten._

He spins on his heels, lifts his gun, and pulls the trigger without another thought. Myles misses. Murphy does not. 

He’s seen bodies fall before, but it’s quite unceremonious how Myles collapses to the ground, blood seeping into the dirt all around him. Connor rushes forwards with a devastating cry, his hands shaking over Myles’ body, too late to do anything.

Mbege comes forwards, claps Murphy on the shoulder. Emori gives him a small smile. She’s never liked the duels, especially when Murphy found himself involved in them, which really, was all too often. 

It’s Dax, though, that comes forwards and changes everything. 

“You killed him,” he hisses, coming forwards very aggressively. Mbege and Emori both draw their weapons, but with a hand, Murphy holds them back. 

“I did,” he admits. “All’s fair.” If he were being honest, he’d admit that he hadn’t aimed to kill, and it truly had been an accident.

“Sure,” Dax says, and then he grabs Murphy by the shirt, clutching the fabric in his hand. Something’s off, though - he can tell by the way that he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Dax, or lift any of his limbs to get out of the hold. His hand is _hot_ , too, radiating heat that he can feel through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Jonathan Murphy,” he spits, “I curse you to live a hundred and one days out of your own time, in a place you’ll be alone, and without happiness. And if, even after that’s over, if I _ever_ see you again, I curse you to a hundred and one more.”

It happens very, very quickly. He begins to disappear from view, his legs vanishing first. Vaguely, he thinks he hears Emori scream. 

He gets only a second to look up again at Dax in shock, seeing only his sneering face. “All’s fair, right?” he says, and then Murphy’s gone. 

In the next second, he’s standing on top of a bar, with a very handsome man staring at him. If _this_ is his curse, maybe it isn’t going to be so bad. 

* * *

There’s sincerity behind Murphy’s eyes as he tells his story. Ideally, Bellamy thinks he’d like to be able to challenge him, to question the truth behind this outrageous tale that doesn’t make any sense, _but_ \- he’s seen the way Murphy’s looked at everything in the shop. If the technology found in a rundown smoothie store can truly seem to amaze him, then...maybe. Maybe there’s validity here. After all, nobody’s acting is _that_ good. 

Also - his crisp, southern drawl is a unique one that Bellamy’s never heard. Not to mention, their town is far too north for anyone living here to have a real accent. Maybe it’s fake, but maybe - it’s not. 

“Murphy,” he finally says, taking his time saying his name, “tell me why I shouldn’t call the police right now. Tell me why I should delete this footage and help you.”

“ _Help_ me? I don’t need nobody’s _help_.”

Bellamy taps his fingers on the desk in thought, reclining as he does so. There’s some kind of authority that comes from being seated in a rolling office chair. It could also be because he’s staring at an actual cowboy from the Old West, which is, on all counts, absolutely ridiculous. 

“No?” he asks. “If you’re telling the truth - what are you going to do? I push you out onto the street. Where do you go?”

Murphy mulls this over, taking his time to craft an acceptable answer. “It’s always easy to find the town saloon,” he finally decides on. 

“Not anymore,” Bellamy replies. “Those don’t exist.”

Murphy’s noticeably nervous, now. “Then - I can find a good time anywhere I go.”

Bellamy just shakes his head, the tapping of his fingers growing more erratic. “That’s not an answer, or a plan. You _need_ my help, if you’re really here for, what - a hundred and one days? But you’re also carrying a firearm in my workplace, so, I don’t know.”

He’s got no right to be so arrogant, seeing as Murphy _could_ just shoot him - but somehow, they both know he won’t. “What, this?” Murphy says, running his finger delicately over the handle of the gun, his other hand staying clutched onto his hat. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Right,” Bellamy says, slowly, “but you _did_ just tell me you killed somebody.”

Murphy tenses, immediately and quite noticeably. His eyes drop and the grip on his hat grows white. “Yes,” he says, “I did.” There’s sincerity here that Bellamy wasn’t expecting, an admission of pure and honest guilt. Something in his heart opens up in this moment, though he won’t know it for a long time to come. 

Hesitantly, Bellamy asks the next question. “Murphy, what year was it for you?”

Upon being asked something he can actually answer, the sparkle in Murphy’s eyes return, and for some reason, it makes Bellamy smile. “Why, it’s 1868!” he says, proudly. 

There are exactly zero reasons as to why Bellamy shouldn’t call the police. There are zero reasons as to why he shouldn’t push Murphy out onto the street and write him off as a crazy, probably drunk person that wandered into the store when Bellamy wasn’t looking. There are zero reasons as to why he should believe anything he’s said at all, especially when it’s been so ridiculous. 

And yet. 

He pulls out his phone and plays the camera footage back once more, recording it as he does so, because he knows he’ll want to obsess over it later, and then he deletes all of the footage from the entire day. The next thing he does is call his boss and pretend he’s sick, asking if it was alright to close for a moment and go home early. Begrudgingly, his boss allows him to do this, only because it’s a Tuesday morning and nobody wants a smoothie on a Tuesday morning. 

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Murphy,” Bellamy says. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

If Bellamy had looked behind him as he led Murphy out the door, he’d have seen the cowboy counting up the centuries on his fingers, eyes widening in when he’d realized just how far out of his element he really was. 

* * *

Raven’s at the apartment when they get there. This is a good thing and a bad thing.

It’s a great thing, really, because Bellamy’s roommate is the smartest person he knows, and as his best friend, he can’t entertain the thought of keeping any kind of secret from her. It is best that she learn about what’s going on right away. 

It’s absolutely horrible in the sense that he’s going to have to explain why he’s dragging in a cowboy behind him, covered in dirt, with a loaded gun at his side. 

Raven’s sitting on the couch in the main room, staring at Bellamy with an expression that means both _what are you doing?_ and _explain this, right now_. He only manages to stand sheepishly before her and shrug as Murphy bows his head, holds his hat at his chest, and utters a, “Milady,” before anyone can stop him.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, slowly closing the lid of her laptop and setting it aside. 

“Jonathan Murphy’s the name,” he says, and Bellamy has to fight not to roll his eyes as he winks at her. 

Raven’s attention slides to Bellamy. “You’ve never mentioned a Jonathan.”

“Nobody calls me that,” Murphy interjects before Bellamy can get a word out. 

“John, whatever,” she says.

Bellamy holds up a hand, silencing what he knows will be Murphy’s next words. “Murphy. He likes to be called Murphy,” he says, and then quieter to Murphy he adds, “You gotta stop doing that, man. Just tell people what you want to be called.”

“Sure looks like he _likes_ a lot of things,” Raven says, a steady smile growing on her face. “Didn’t know this is what you were into, Bell, but what do I know? Have fun, or whatever.”

It takes Bellamy a second, but when he catches on to what she’s alluding to, he feels the heat rise to his cheeks. “Raven, no!”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “It’s a secret, then, I don’t care.”

“No, that’s - _no_!”

Murphy scoffs. “Oh, am I _really_ that unattractive to you?”

“Well, hang on now - that’s not - you’re very handsome, but that’s not-”

“I know,” Murphy says. 

Bellamy’s cheeks flush even redder. “Everybody _hang on_ ! Raven, I have a _lot_ to tell you.”

He guides Murphy into a chair, and then he sits down on the couch next to Raven, attempting to sound as serious as possible. It’s always been easy to talk to her, so he has no trouble telling her everything that happened during his shift, and all about the initial exchange he had with Murphy. 

By the end of it, Raven’s staring at him with only one eyebrow raised. “Bellamy, that’s - listen, I had no idea that you got high, but it _sounds_ like-”

“I wasn’t high!” Bellamy retorts immediately. “It’s real. This _really_ happened. Murphy can back me up, he was there.”

“True,” Murphy replies absentmindedly from the chair across from them. “I was there. That’s what this whole thing is about, ain’t it? I wasn’t there and then I was?”

“No offence, _Murphy_ , but I don’t know you,” Raven says, “so you’re not exactly a credible source.”

“A cred - a what now? I don’t know what you’re sayin’, but if you give me a chance, I’m sure I can be it.”

Bellamy chooses to ignore him, though his response makes him giggle inside a little bit. “Look,” he says, “watch this.” He quickly pulls up the recording he took of the security camera footage and shows Raven. When the footage cuts out and turns to static, though, she throws up her hands. 

“Bellamy, any amount of time could have passed in that space!” she says. 

“But it _didn’t_! I’m telling you, it was just a second!”

Raven ignores him, and keeps watching the recording, watching the way he chased the customer out of the store and closed up shop. “If this is fake,” she mutters, “it _is_ good acting.”

“Have you ever thought of me as a good actor?” he challenges. 

This is what gets her to nod. “You’re a god-awful actor, but this...okay. Fine. Okay, I believe you.”

“ _Yes!_ ” he shouts, a little too eagerly. Raven and Murphy both roll their eyes. 

“So, we have to find a way to get you back to your own time,” Raven says, turning her attention to Murphy, who had been staring transfixed at the digital clock on the table next to him. 

“Dax said it’d be a hundred and one days,” Murphy replies.

Bellamy does the math quickly in his head. “A hundred and one days from now is September 9th,” he says. “That’s not too far. I think we just wait it out.”

“Wait it out? Really? And do _what_ in the meantime?” Raven says.

Bellamy turns to Murphy, looking him carefully up and down, formulating what may be the worst idea he’s ever had. “How do you feel about customer service?”

* * *

It’s surprisingly easy to convince his boss to give Murphy a trial shift at the store. Bellamy’s been a model employee, and they were always understaffed, so his manager was willing to forgo the interview process. “You train him the entire time. If he messes up, it’s on you,” were the only words of warning he’d gotten about it, before being handed an old uniform and told to bring him in during Bellamy’s next shift. 

When he’d handed Murphy the garments and told him to get changed in the bathroom, Raven had given him one of her trademark smirks. “You’re going to really far lengths to help him out,” she’d said. 

“Yeah, of course. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Maybe. But is that _really_ why you’re doing it?”

“Raven-”

“No cowboy fantasies in your mind? Hmm?”

Murphy had come out of the bathroom then, still wearing his boots, his hat, and the holster with the gun in it overtop of the uniform. Bellamy made sure to sort that out _very_ quickly.

And that’s how he found himself here, standing behind the counter with Murphy there as well. He’d done his best to go over everything very slowly, walking him through every single one of the smoothie recipes and the ingredients that went with it. It wasn’t hard - they only served four flavours. There’s a pretty good reason as to why the store’s rundown. 

When the first customer comes in, Bellamy takes the order and lets Murphy have a go at making the drink. Surprisingly, for an 1868 cowboy, he’s a quick learner, and makes it perfectly the first try. 

“Adaptable,” he says slowly, pronouncing every syllable. “That’s what everyone always called me.”

It proves true - Murphy becomes a smoothie pro, mixing every order they get in record time. “Okay,” Bellamy says, eventually, “I’m going to go on my break. If you have _any_ issues - about literally _anything_ \- call me. And I will come running.”

“You’ll come runnin’, will ya?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says, but also, _yes_. 

Bellamy slowly goes to the break room, keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary, but it seems to be going okay. Eventually, he relaxes enough that he doesn’t notice the time going by, even to a suspicious amount. 

After about twenty-three minutes, he’s certain Murphy should have asked him something by then, so he wanders out of the break room to find out, only to see a line of customers almost out the door. 

“Oh my god,” he says, never having seen this many people crammed into the smoothie store. Yes, it was summertime, but _still_. “Murphy, what’s - what is this?”

“I’m makin’ ‘em, and they just keep on comin’!” Murphy exclaims proudly, sliding sliding a large _Mango Infusion_ across the counter to a customer. As the next customer approaches the counter, ordering a _Blueberry Blast_ , Murphy nods and immediately begins making it. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy asks, tentatively, “have any of these people been _paying_ for their orders?”

Murphy’s brow furrows for only a second. “Well - no. You were always doin’ that part.”

He lets out a shaky breath, _sure_ this time that he’d be getting fired. “Yeah, but - so you didn’t - you didn’t do that part?”

“Well, you said you were goin’ on break, whatever that is,” Murphy replies, giving the customer the finished smoothie without taking payment for it. “So I figured then that meant nobody would be doin’ that part.”

“Oh, god,” Bellamy sighs, and then at a loud volume, “They are _not_ free, folks! You do have to pay! Apologies! So sorry!”

With many grumbles, and a few annoyed looks, the customers all filter out the door, leaving the store empty except for the two of them - as it should be. 

“Sorry,” Murphy says, tentatively, as if he isn’t sure what he should say but knows he should say _something_. 

Bellamy places both hands on the counter, and attempts to steady himself, but in the end, he can’t hold it in. He _laughs_. It’s loud, and obnoxious, and if there were any customers still in the store he’s sure management would be getting a phone call, but he can’t stop howling. 

Pretty soon, Murphy’s joining in, and the shift quickly becomes one of the best he’s ever had. 

* * *

It’s about five weeks into the whole thing when Bellamy wakes up to find Murphy not in their room.

He’s been sleeping in Bellamy’s bedroom for lack of a better spot, in a sleeping bag they had in storage. Bellamy had wanted to give up his bed, but Murphy had insisted on sleeping on the floor, saying it was more like what he was used to, anyways. Eventually, Bellamy had relented. 

Tonight, though, Bellamy wakes sometime around three in the morning, and Murphy’s nowhere to be seen. He’s sure that he’s fine. There’s nowhere else he would go, but - he can’t help but worry, and he thinks he knows why that is, but for the moment, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

The apartment isn’t big, and Murphy’s easy to find. Bellamy softly opens the balcony doors and closes them behind him without a sound, and then leans against the railing next to Murphy, breathing out softly into the hot air of the summer night. 

“You alright?” Bellamy asks, after several minutes pass. 

“Sure thing,” Murphy replies, but his voice is hoarse, in a way that can only mean one thing. 

“I’m sorry that you’re stuck here.”

“It’s not that,” Murphy says immediately. “You - you’re great.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It’s just - everythin’ else.”

“Yeah?”

Murphy breathes in deeply. “Yeah. Just - even in the dark, you can’t see the stars. And you can hear...everythin’. All the sounds. It’s loud.”

From where they are, the highway traffic is easily heard. Bellamy’s never really thought about it, having blocked out the sounds long ago, but he supposes, yeah, it _is_ loud. “What was it like?” he asks. “Seeing the stars?”

Murphy just smiles. “It was...like nothin’ else you’ve ever seen. Like, the sun is great to look at, but when the stars are out, it’s - it’s like a thousand little suns.”

The simplicity yet complexity of the metaphor makes Bellamy burst out into a fit of giggles. “Hey!” Murphy says, “I’m tryin’ my best, here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy says, once he’s calmed down. “And you are. You’re doing really well here, considering you’re a hundred and fifty years in the future.”

“Thank you,” Murphy says, softly. “I’m glad it was _your_ bar I ended up in.”

“It’s still not a bar.”

“Oh, whatever.”

They stay there for a while longer and let the night sky work its magic. The entire time, Bellamy thinks about the stars, and how he finds he doesn’t need to be able to see them all, not when he’s got Murphy for company.

* * *

It’s September 9th, day one hundred and one, and Bellamy takes Murphy to work. He’s gone back to school now, himself, but luckily he doesn’t have classes to go to today. Unluckily, his part time job takes all his extra time, so that’s where they find themselves. 

“Do you have any idea about what’s supposed to happen?” Bellamy says, cleaning equipment as casually as he can. He’s felt weird all morning, and through the days leading up to today. If he really thinks about it, he knows exactly why, but it’s not something he can bring himself to say. 

“No clue,” Murphy replies. He’s not doing any work, and is instead leaning against the counter, tapping his foot in an increasingly fast rhythm. If it were anyone else, Bellamy would scold them, but - it’s Murphy.

They stay like this in silence for a little while longer, until Bellamy finally loses patience and puts down the equipment in the sink, turning off the water and grabbing a loose towel to dry his hands. “What’s going to happen to you?” he asks. 

Murphy stills, mulling this over. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know if time will have passed for anyone back there, or not.”

“Either way. Where do you go?”

“I go find my crew again, I guess,” Murphy replies, though he doesn’t seem all that thrilled about it. “And we go back to doin’ our thing. Travellin’, goin’ town to town, finding the best parties and the best bars.”

“Parties? In the Old West?”

“Ah, sure,” Murphy says. “ _You_ might call them gunfights, but that’s part of the appeal.”

This only makes Bellamy’s heart hurt more. “And you’d - you _want_ to go back to that?”

“I - well, it’s where I’m from. It’s my time.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Murphy looks at him, really _looks_ at him, and formulates his answer. Just as he’s about to speak, a man appears on the counter top, in the exact same place Murphy had a hundred and one days ago. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Bellamy says, out of shock more than anything, though he’s a bit grateful he didn’t have a smoothie up there this time. 

“Dax,” Murphy says, calm and unfazed. “Long time, huh?”

“For _you_ ,” the man, Dax, sneers. “It’s been seconds for me. Myles’ body is still sittin’ in the sun where you _shot_ him.”

“He challenged _me_!” Murphy retorts. 

“Don’t matter,” he says, “the curse is up.” Neither Bellamy nor Murphy had been able to comprehend how magic was a possibility in the Old West, but they weren’t exactly in a place to dispute it. Bellamy had even poured over old history textbooks and gone to the library numerous times, but no luck. 

“Wait!” Murphy says, pulling away as Dax jumped off the counter and moved forwards to grab Murphy’s arm. “What if you - didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you just - left me here?”

“Left you _here_ ? In the god awful twenty-first century? You _want_ to stay here, where it’s loud all the time, the people are rude, and the government runs everything? Where it’s dirty, and disgusting, and did I mention _loud_?”

Murphy glances over at Bellamy, just once - but it’s enough. “Yeah,” Murphy says. “What if you did?”

Dax is clearly surprised. “I - I _could_. I guess it would make the streets safer for me, and I’d never have to see your face again...alright, fine then, Murphy. You’re going to regret this choice, though, I swear that you will.”

And with that, Dax vanishes from sight as instantly as he appeared, and they were alone. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy whispers, “why did you _do_ that?”

“You know why,” he says, and yeah - he does. 

It doesn’t take long for their laughter to fill up the smoothie shop.

* * *

On the morning of September 10th, the gentle sounds of modern life wake them both. Bellamy’s laying in bed, his arms wrapped around Murphy. His old sleeping bag is kicked to the corner of the room, no longer a needed item. 

“Morning,” Bellamy says, softly. 

Murphy hums, making no attempt to move. They stay silent for a while, under finally, Murphy asks, “You’re glad I decided to stay, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am.” They pause again, and then, “Besides, you still owe me a _Strawberry Delight_.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Yeah, to make up for the one you put your boot in.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

They both laugh, loudly, quieting down only to Raven’s yelled protest about it being too early. “We might need a bigger place, though,” Bellamy says, “for Raven’s sake.”

“Right, yeah. For _her_ sake.”

They laugh again, and the sound fills the entire room. It’s the most beautiful sound Bellamy’s ever heard, he decides, and this time, not even Raven objects to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this silly mess of a fic. really, don't take it seriously, it's just for fun. 
> 
> talk to me on twitter @reidsnora! you know, if you want to. :)


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